Maybe endurance chose usso we can familiarize ourselveswith our family car's leather backseats.The same ones we've crackedfrom fidgeting;unwilling to assume the role oftowing behind. We're such perfect candidatesto carry endurance.I swear. We've claimed so many roadsides as ours, for the rush,because we'd gonefrom 15 to 20in the most stunted way possible. Now we're talking about lavender fieldspeonies adorning vasesthe french revolutionCharles Bukowskiwalking through the fireand we've never even wandered off into our cityor had our shoulders kissthe palm trees on the pavements. Woman,we look like funeralswhen we're standing under the sun.Woman,blessed is your endurance.Your praying matt.Your womb.Your spine. Woman,ash is the color of the washed outsand clinging to our definitions.